church

Once I left the convent, I wanted to consider myself normal. I lived in the regular world, had a boyfriend-soon-to-become-husband, a job, and lived a regular house. Everything seemed unremarkable and normal to me. But I was soon to discover I was anything but. My family didn’t want me to be regular. They bristled at the fact that I moved from the convent to a live-in situation with my boyfriend. They were shocked that I’d given up my faith, since my parents and most of my siblings were faithful Catholics. How could I NOT be, when I’d been a nun for so long?

They had put me on a pedestal and then eventually forgotten I was real.

In the meantime, I’d spent too many years breathing the rarified air from the top of a pedestal and found it lonely and uncomfortable. I’d learned to obey without question and respond immediately to the call of the bell. I became a dutiful nun. A good girl. A saint–a woman worthy of praise.

Having finally rediscovered my humanity, I began listening to my own voice and gradually fell down from the pedestal.

It’s unbelieveable. At last count, I’ve sold over a hundred copies of my book since publishing it on Amazon in July. I’d never thought much about getting my book out there, simply wanted to finish it. Now, I’ve begun the next one, which will be a continuation of the first–a peek at how it is for a longtime nun to transition from one world to another.

Initially, I hesitated to write another book about me, me, me. The well established convent voices in my head, shook their accusing fingers at me and scolded,

In spite of the fact that I no longer believe such nonsense, the voices have continued to wheedle at me over the years. At times, when I think I’ve nearly conquered their debilitating words, they return. Or I have my recurring convent nightmare. However, within or without my convent mind, I’ve begun to write again. About what it has been like, to try and leave the convent behind.

Up until I went to the convent. In my book, I enjoyed riding my horse, which ended abruptly when I left home at age fifteen. The absence of pets left a big void in my life. Being without close friends and the company of animals accentuated my sense of loneliness.

Yes, I’ve submitted my Once Upon a Convent manuscript to several publishing agents, and just received a request for a detailed proposal . I’ve put off an immediate response because of the amount of work this kind of document entails. I’ve finally begun though, and am determined that one way or another, my book will be published. My story is a unique revelation of the guts of what went on behind convent walls in the mid-twentieth century, and deserves to be shared.

Obviously. . . .otherwise, I wouldn’t have stowed away in a convent for nineteen years. When I believed I had failed to discover the Divine behind the cloister walls, I looked elsewhere. Rather than finding the reassurance and comfort a traditional God, I discovered it in Nature. Trees, especially, were a source of light during my darkest times. (Those times to be revealed in my book). I often headed deep into the woods and settled at the base of a cluster of pine trees, where a soft and uplifting presence took me over.

Since leaving the convent, I continue to seek the Divine. Only now, I seek it outside the realm of traditional religions or churches. I find a solid ground and hope–often through Trees. As it happens, I have known Trees to be among the most ancient of living beings on our planet, and find that sense of divine presence magnified among the more Ancient Standing Ones.

Fifteen years ago, a few friends and I visited the site of a 2000 year old Cedar tree in Northern Idaho. It towered above the surrounding forest in magnificent glory, while we hastened to gather at its feet. We were unable to speak, we simply stood, breathing in her splendor.

I felt touched. . hushed. . deepened.. .

seen.

I have since learned that there are even more ancient, beings on our planet. Even more than we are aware of. Pictured above is sea grass, that has been living in Spain for 100,000 years. The sight of such beauty brings me to my knees. Something I was too often required to do in the presence of our tabernacled God in the convent.